


Some Days

by hollyhocks (endearings)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, but thats ok bc it gets better in the end!, him and mj are just real soft, idk man its good ok, implied depression, sometimes Peter just needs to be a kid :'), this is kind of sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 13:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19724350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endearings/pseuds/hollyhocks
Summary: “Um - the internship.” Peter begins. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to come to the tower or anything, or if I was just going to go, like, patrolling by myself-”“Nothing at the tower today, Pete.”“Yeah?” Peter asks, and it  shouldn’t but his heart beats furiously, hope floating gently in his chest. “So then I should go patrolling?”There’s a short pause. “If you want to,” Tony tells him, and Peter can picture him now, can imagine the motor grease streaking his cheeks, staining his shirt, jacket sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “If you feel like it.”“And if I don’t?” Peter whispers.“That’s okay, too.” Tony’s voice is gentle, kind. Unassuming. “You’re allowed to be sixteen sometimes, Peter. You’re allowed to be a kid.”





	Some Days

**Author's Note:**

> *shooting finger guns* what up dudes its my first time writing for this fandom! I am deeply and irrevocably in love with tom holland though so it def won't be my last bc when I tell u im in love. I mean. I am in l o v e. 
> 
> anyway this was just a short lil thing I wrote bc it took residence in my head and refused to leave so. I hope u all enjoy this <3

  
  


Some days, Peter has trouble getting out of bed. His head hurts a little, and the clouds outside his window are grey and the curtains fluttering in the breeze sometimes tell him things, quiet things, faded things,  _ tired  _ things. 

( _ it’s okay,  _ they murmur, kindly, quietly.  _ It’s okay to want to stay in bed. It’s okay to not want to move. Things aren’t always going to be okay and that’s okay too. _

That voice sort of sounds like uncle Ben, sometimes. _ ) _

Some days, Peter isn’t okay. His muscles ache with too much strain and the place where his heart is, the place where hurt gathers easily, aches too. Everything aches, some days. 

Today, Peter is aching. He has school though and there’s an exam in chemistry and a decathlon meeting after, so Peter is going to get up and he’s going to get dressed and he’s going to  _ go.  _

It takes him a little while, though. He can hear May in the kitchen, can hear her bustling around, humming under her breath, cooking him breakfast maybe, and when he finally leaves his room, drowning in a too-big hoodie with his thumbs barely peeking past the cuffs, she looks at him, soft and sweet and just a little sad. 

“Hey, honey,”, and her voice is quiet, sure. “You doing okay?”

_ (Not really,  _ Peter wants to say.  _ I feel kind of empty, aunt May. I feel sort of like I’m not really here and I feel like that should worry me but it doesn’t and I don’t know what to do because absolutely nothing is okay and it hasn’t been for a while, now.)  _

“Yeah,” he tries to smile, can feel it curling his lips like a grimace instead. “Just a little tired, May.”

May presses a kiss to his cheek in answer, and Peter breathes her in, orchids and peaches and tea, all things sweet. “That’s okay, honey. Just take it one step at a time, alright?” 

Peter’s throat feels tight. “I’ll do my best, May.”

And he does, he really does. He takes it one step at a time as carefully as he can, because he aches everywhere and he’s tired and the spiderman suit sitting forlonly in his backpack weighs heavier than usual, and all of it just feels  _ too much,  _ today. 

(too much all the time, maybe.)

/

MJ finds him at lunch. Her eyes are dark, warm, flashing with concern maybe, but Peter sends her a smile and feels his heart bloom a little at the one she answers with, the corners of her lips curling up prettily. 

“Hey, dork,” and it’s said softly, without much bite behind it at all. “You doing okay? Where’s Ned?”

“He had a paper to finish,” Peter tells her, stares when she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, the gentle twist of it curling forward stubbornly. “So it’s just me, today.”

“Not just you,” MJ says, and it’s under her breath, but it’s still certain, still firm. “I’m here too, aren’t I?”

Peter considers her for a moment. She looks as she usually does, bluntly pretty with her black combat boots and her cuffed jeans, a cardigan almost swallowing her whole, the sleeves of it tugged carefully over her fingers. 

“Yeah,” Peter says, cocking his head to the side, mouth curling into a half smile. “I guess you are, huh.”

(and that’s the thing, really - MJ’s sort of been here lately, in the way that Ned’s there, in the way that May’s there, in the way that  _ Tony’s  _ there. She’s been creeping into the corners of his life, her steps a gentle echo of her presence, timid and unsure but concerned, careful. 

It’s a little startling, sometimes; Peter could be in the hallway, could have forgotten his calculator in his locker but it would be okay because suddenly MJ is there, an extra one in hand. He could be walking and Flash’ll be calling him a name or two, yelling taunts at the back of his head like he thinks Peter actually  _ cares _ , and even if he doesn’t it wouldn’t matter because MJ’ll smack the back of Flash’s head, tell him  _ knock it off, Thomas _ , and it’s -

It’s strange. A little odd. 

But kind of nice, actually.)

“You didn’t answer the first question,” MJ says suddenly, pulling the sleeves of her cardigan over he hands again, a nervous tick Peter’s starting to recognize. “How are  _ you? _ ”

Peter lets out a breath, this heavy thing that tastes like iron and sorrow and hurt. “Tired.” he says honestly. “I’m really, really tired, MJ.”

And now it’s MJ staring at him, her head cocked to the side, that piece of hair still twisting stubbornly over her ear. Peter has the oddest urge to lean forward, to tuck it back where it came from maybe, and he refrains but just barely. 

“Peter,” MJ is staring at him now, a little in amusement, a little in exasperation. “Did you hear me?”

“...No.” 

MJ flicks his forehead, just this little tap that hurts as much as a butterfly kiss would. “I asked,” she says, lowly and just a little playful, “If you wanted to ditch the decathlon meeting. Maybe get some ice cream, fuck around for a bit, you know?” 

“But you're the president of the decathlon club.” Peter says stupidly. “You want to - what?”

“Exactly,” MJ says, nodding like Peter’s made perfect sense. “I’m the president, which means I can choose to cancel if I want, and today I want to cancel. And get some ice cream. You in?”

Peter stares at her, helpless. “I, um - I have the Stark internship, and -”

_ And I’m spiderman. And I’m spiderman, and I have things to do, and people to help, and I’m only sixteen but I feel like I’m not, I feel like I’m empty, this awful sort of empty, and I want to be normal. I do, I really do, but-” _

_ “ _ Peter,” MJ whispers, kindly, gently. “I would really, really like it if we could get ice cream today.”

“Okay,” Peter says weakly. His heart is beating an uneven rhythm in his chest, and he can barely breathe it feels like, but MJ’s eyes are so warm. They’re so, so warm, and she’s grinning at him now, this soft upturn of her lips that has Peter’s cheeks flushing a pale pink. “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”

/ 

Peter calls Tony. 

His suit is still sitting heavy in his backpack, buried beneath books and jackets and notes, and maybe he should’ve kept it more neatly when he left, but he didn’t and the truth of it stings the back of his mouth like acid. 

It rings once, twice, three times before a voice says, gruff and a little distracted “Peter?”

“Hey,” Peter says, clears his throat and tries again when it comes out weaker than he meant it to. “Hey, Mr. Stark?” 

Tony lets out a noise, and it crackles through Peter like static, like hurt. “What’s up, kid?”

“Um - the internship.” Peter begins. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to come to the tower or anything, or if I was just going to go, like, patrolling by myself-”

“Nothing at the tower today, Pete.” 

“Yeah?” Peter asks, and it shouldn’t but his heart beats furiously, hope floating gently in his chest. “So then I should go patrolling?”

There’s a short pause. “If you want to,” Tony tells him, and Peter can picture him now, can imagine the motor grease streaking his cheeks, staining his shirt, jacket sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “If you feel like it.”

“And if I don’t?” Peter whispers. 

“That’s okay, too.” Tony’s voice is gentle, kind. Unassuming. “You’re allowed to be sixteen sometimes, Peter. You’re allowed to be a kid.”

“Okay.” Peter’s throat is thick, and he wipes furiously at his eyes, feels like a fool when his sleeve comes away damp. “Okay, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Anytime, Peter.”

So Peter hangs up. Goes back to class and writes a note and slides it over to MJ, their fingers touching for a brief second. 

_ Got off for the internship. Ice cream at 4?  _

MJ’s fingers touch his again, folding a piece of paper into his palm carefully. 

_ Ice cream at 4, dork :) _

/ 

MJ meets him outside their class with a smile curling her lips, her chin tucked into her chest to keep safe from the autumn chill. Her cardigan reaches her knees, and her ponytail’s half undone, loose tendrils of hair framing her face in delicate curls. 

She looks lovely. 

Peter feels his heart beat an uneven rhythm in his chest, a gentle echo of an emotion he’s not quite sure he wants to name. 

“Hey,” he says, raises his hand in an awkward half wave. “Um - ice cream?”

The corners of MJ’s eyes crinkle, and she reaches out a hand, Peter keeping still as she cards it through his hair, fingers brushing through the strands carefully. 

“Your hair’s nice,” she comments, and Peter blushes bright red, tongue thick in his mouth.    
  


“Thanks? Your, um, your hair’s nice too, MJ.”

MJ waves him off dismissively, but Peter can see the flush of pink blooming under her skin, gentle splotches of colour that leave her looking sweet, unsure. “Let’s go, nerd.”

So Peter follows her dutifully down the street, past his favorite deli and around the corner until they reach a small ice cream parlor tucked into the wall, a place he’s never been before. 

Inside, the lights are flickering dimly and the walls are lined with booths and there’s only the cashier inside, a bored looking girl that spares them one glance before going back to her phone. It’s an odd place, and Peter’s not quite sure he likes it, but the ice cream is good and MJ’s arm has brushed his at least twice since they left school, and Peter feels sort of okay, maybe. 

(The ache’s faded a little. Since he’s talked to May, to Tony, to  _ MJ _ , the ache feels less like an ache and more like a yellowing bruise, a thing that flares up every now and then but for the most part, only hurts if he pokes at it too much. 

Peter is going to do his best to poke at it as little as possible.) 

They don’t linger too much. Even if Peter doesn’t have the Stark internship today, he still has a paper due in a few hours and MJ has a kid she’s supposed to be tutoring at 5, and they leave as soon as they get their ice cream, taking the long way back home. 

MJ finishes hers in a grand total of two minutes and then eats half of Peter’s, too. Peter can’t quite find it in himself to mind. 

/

When he gets back home, the apartment is empty. May’s left him a note, and dinner, and Peter hums under his breath as he warms it up, carefully carrying it back to his room and eating it in bed with his laptop balanced precariously between his knees. 

He finishes his paper and sends Ned a meme, sends one to MJ, too. Peter feels okay, kind of. Feels even better when he digs his suit out of his backpack, smoothing out the wrinkles before hanging it up, in the back of the closet where he’s sure May won’t touch it. 

Today, Peter had trouble getting out of bed. His chest was aching and his bones were aching and everything he could feel, everything in between, was  _ aching _ . He didn’t want to be spiderman today, didn’t have enough in him  _ to  _ be spiderman, but that doesn’t mean tomorrow will be the same. 

Some days, Peter has trouble being spiderman. Some days, the suit feels heavier than usual and Peter is hurting everywhere that can hurt, and he isn’t okay, but other days (like today) Peter is allowed to put it aside; breathe in, breathe out; be a kid. 

Some days (like today) are kind of okay, in the end. 

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if u liked this leave me a comment and a kudos, they make my day <3


End file.
